We sit under the neon sky,
And I wearily ponder Of an age I have passed.
Times that have taken us into a piece of history
Nothing of life goes unnoticed or
Gets tucked under the rug
Sometimes life seems to be above us,
Sometimes it’s just never enough,
Remember that old Granny telling,
“Happiness is the space between too little, too much.”
A little more and I will reach,
For the space between is where I live;
Lost in the void of it all
No ear hears me, No one will find me, none not even I.
As we sit and when we tread,
Even the shadow that follows
Finds a corner to duck in
The traces of ink blur
The sanity of my existence,
Mirrors reflect no longer,
They highlight the nullness and
The nudity of this psycho world we inhabit
I need rehab from the mind that tells me
I need a space of my own,
From the place that tells me
I need to belong to those around me.
I need an escape,
I need the same.
Clean slates are nothing short of crumbs,
After some time something must be swept out.
Taking the shoes off seems even worse
We must get up and exercise this pain,
The symptoms of life will be under our feet;
Like walking on puffs of clouds
Invincible and infallible, with every stride.
And without looking back, follow the setting sun,
The whistling echoes of the wind,
And waltz in the pitter-patter of rain so divine,
Swim in the endless ocean,
Every time never letting up on our step,
Till thirst has to be quenched and
No road there for us to tread on.
…I will turn to listen to the
Echo of your heart soaring over mine in the shelter of its wing ….
30 Jan 09 A clean slate? Zama